Chaos' Angel
by Robert S. Kester
Summary: A tale of the Joker's past. Rated M for graphic content, blood, and language.
1. Chapter 1 Scars

A/N: I don't own any of these characters. They are either owned by DC or Christopher Nolan or someone. Enjoy reading it.

Chaos' Angel

"Scars"

"Ma?" Little Jim Barton had just arrived home from school, excited to see his mother after such a hectic and tiring day. On the walk to the small apartment complex, he wasn't able to foresee that he would soon find out that the pain of his day had only been a fraction of what his mother had experienced.

"Jim." It was her voice, though very weak. From his position in the front doorway, he could see a broken table and glasses. With a slight shift of a few degrees, a new sight presented itself, one that would be a severe shock for any other, ordinary eight year old boy. His mother lay on the floor, beaten, bruised, and bleeding out of multiple wounds. "Daddy was here again, Jimmy. Get the bed ready."

"No. No, no, no, he can't stay!"

"But he is." She couldn't even move to comfort him from the now prevalent fatigue and pain that were coursing throughout her body.

"I'll go. I won't come back." His face was red with anger and tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"He'll kill me if you try that again. He just wants us to be a family, like we used to. He'll get us out of Gotham's Narrows. Maybe the Palisades, Jimmy! The Palisades! Oh, that new job at Wayne Enterprises is going so well for him."

"You believe him?"

"I do. He's family. That's what matters, now, Jimmy. Family. You, me, and your pa, all together now." Jimmy shook his head and ran off to the room he would soon have to hand over to the fiend his mother insisted on calling his "father". As was his tendency, he looked out of his window and watched the kids play street Basketball.

For some reason, he couldn't stop himself from laughing, and he couldn't figure out what was so funny. It was something that his underdeveloped mind was incapable of comprehending at this age. When he became older, he would understand that he was laughing at the obliviousness of the kids on the street, and their fighting over the rules, who broke them, and that their attempts to control the game were all pathetic.

"You some kind of clown, boy? Huh? You some kind of joker?" The cold, dry voice of his father sent chills down his spine and he wisely decided not to let his back be turned on him for one second, so he snapped around.

"N-no, sir..."

"Good. OUT!" The scream was so intense and sudden that he ran as fast as he could out of the room and, seeing that his mom was still on the floor, he knelt down beside her. He could hear his father from the other room laughing, and then saying, "Kid's too serious. Needs to lighten up."

"Mom?"

"Jimmy?"

"He didn't help you..."

She could barely even stroke his hair and watched helplessly as tears ran down his cheeks. "Hey, daddy needs his rest, baby."

"What about you?"

"Daddy works so hard, babe."

"He hurt you..."

"Out of love, Jimmy, out of love. Someday, when you have a woman, you'll understand."

"No. I won't." He continued to look at his mother's angelically beautiful face, though bruised it was. Her tanned bronze skin, flowing, straight brown hair, soft even with the shards of glass and hardened blood scattered throughout its strands. Her green eyes peered as hard at him as they could through the puffy, bruised eyelids.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of the monster from the other room. "Jimmy. In here. NOW!"

He snapped up and ran into the room, taking his place against the wall as to prevent any rear attacks. "Sir?"

"Fix the antenna on this damned TV of yours and get me some beers when you're done. I wanna watch the game that's on tonight."

"Yes, sir..."

"You know, sometimes, you're kind of a good kid."

"Thank you, sir."

For a moment he was silent, but then his face was furious. "GO! Retard..."

Jimmy nodded and started adjusting the antennas until his father said it was clear enough and then dashed into the kitchen, bringing him several beers from the door.

He took them, grumbled, sat back on the bed and gulped the first one in several minutes. Jimmy was still there, and this infuriated him. He stood up and towered over the small boy. "Why in the hell are you still here?"

"You didn't say I could go, sir." This seethed inside of his father for a minute, until he drew back his hand and slammed it into the child's face.

"NOW YOU CAN GO! AND DON'T EVEN GIVE A FUCKING THOUGHT TO CRYING JUST BECAUSE I PUNISED YOU WHEN YOU DESERVED IT!" What ran through Jimmy's mind was 'he doesn't understand'. His father didn't understand that he wouldn't cry because he didn't think he deserved it, he would cry because it hurt. Physically and mentally.

When he stumbled into the living room, struggling to see through the tears, he could make out shapes that appeared as if his mother were trying to get off the floor. He stopped paying attention to his own, personal pain and tried to help his mother up. They were able to get as far as the couch, where she struggled, breathless.

"Mom..."

"He... Really does... Love us, you know... That, right?"

"No, mom, no, he doesn't... No, it's not true..."

"Jimmy, you just gotta believe. He does these things to keep us safe, to keep us happy."

"Mom, it doesn't help."

"He has rules. They're simple enough to follow."

"I know what they are, but they're stupid."

"No. They keep you safe..."

"No, they don't. Please..."

Some strength flowed back into her nearly lifeless body, causing her to jump forward and grab Jimmy's face. Her voice was stronger now. "Listen to me, Jimmy. Listen! He is all we've got. We've got to cherish him, because we've got to cherish all we've got. And he's it. He is absolutely it. There's nothing more, nothing less."

Her strength remained as the fiend walked out of the bedroom, in a drunken stupor. "Your kid don't love me, Casey. Our kid don't love me."

"Mike... I don't know..."

"Make him love me, please, Casey, MAKE HIM LOVE ME! Make him love me, or I'll... I'll kill 'em. Or you. Maybe you first, then him. I don't need no kid who can't love me and I don't need no girl who can't make a damn kid who don't love me. That's my number one rule, love and respect me, without fail. And this, this RETARD never follows rule numero uno."

"Mike, please, please... Hold on, Mike." She was able to stand up on her own, rounding around him toward the kitchen. "Think this through, Mike. Please, baby. I love you. You're my numero uno."

"No, I'm not. I KNOW, for a FACT, that you've been sleeping with Hector."

"Hector? Who in the hell is that?"

"He works with me. At the factory. He keeps talking about your pussy all the time. In great detail. He knows you, he KNOWS you, Casey. So, first, I'll kill you, and then him. I don't know what to do with the kid. He's still young. Maybe I can teach him, I don't know."

"No, please, I swear, I don't know a Hector. I've never heard of any one with that name."

"You trying to say you don't like the Hispanic type? A lil' mucho caliente? Eh?"

"No, I swear." She was nearing the knife rack, her hand shaking as she slid it near the handle of one of the longer, larger bladed knives. She knew he was too drunk to notice until the knife was right up on him, so there would only be one chance.

"Come on, you know you like it better when they shout "God" in Spanish. 'Oh mi Dios, oh mi dios, OH MI DIIIOOOS!' Don't you, babe?"

"Please, Mike, you don't know what you're talking about." She had now slid one of the knives behind her back, and was prepared to go on the defensive.

"The hell I don't!" He began to draw closer, and she pointed the knife toward him.

"Mike, if you come any closer, I swear. You know how sharp you keep these things."

"Yeah, for you. Not me. Now, babe, put that knife down, because I really, REALLY don't like it when you do that."

"No."

"Bitch, you asked for it." He quickly pulled her weak wrist back that was holding the knife, forcing her to drop it, and sunk his fist deep into her face. Jimmy had fallen against the counter, terrified at what he was seeing. He knew his mother had been beaten before, but he had never actually seen it happen.

It became much worse as Mike picked up the dropped knife and sunk it into Casey's chest, laughing maniacally. She screamed and began breathing extremely hard, which disappointed Mike for that fact that she was still alive. He sunk the blade into her chest several more times until she fell, limp and dead, onto the cold floor.

He turned at Jimmy, with a gigantic smile on his face. "Why so SERIOUS?" He approached Jimmy, holding the knife and with an even bigger grin on his face. "Why so SERIOUS?!"

Jimmy couldn't move, even as he felt the blade begin to slice into his cheek--skin, muscle and all. "Let's put a smile on that face!"

After several minutes of excruciating pain in his cheeks, of being sliced on his face, relief was finally at hand. The door was busted down. Apparently, the thin walls of the projects allowed every person in a three apartment radius to hear what was going on, and the GCPD received multiple reports of a domestic disturbance at Number 3, Peach Tree Place.

Jimmy was taken to ICU, where his scars were treated as best as medically possible. Even still, the doctors informed him that they would be there forever.

But the physical scars weren't nearly as important as the emotional ones. The real scarring came from the final confirmation that his mother was dead.

The one thing that he felt provided stability in his life, that drove away the chaos, had left him. Chaos had finally taken her, and somehow, perhaps subconsciously, he knew he would be next.

He would become an agent of chaos, because he was beginning to realize in full how uncontrollable life really was, and that the more one tried to do anything about it, the less happiness was brought to them. The more pain they would receive.

It was best just to work with, or for, chaos, to let it influence one's every action. To show the planners how foolish they really are.

These ideas were beginning to become clearer and clearer to him every second he spent eating hospital food and having his bandages changed, through the itching, scabbing, and finally scarring.

Emotionally, he was in the scabbing phase, but scars were soon to take over.

There were things he had to do, after all. He needed these scars so he could become numb to his past, yet still have a reminder of why he was doing anything at all.


	2. Chapter 2 Gravity

Chaos' Angel

"Gravity"

"Yo, retard, what the fuck's your problem?" Jimmy Barton, now fourteen, was sitting in the physics classroom at Arkham High School. He was only a freshman, but already in an advanced physics class.

The calculations he was working on were nothing like any of the other students had ever seen. Seniors, all trying to get some kind of a class in to fill their credits quota so that they could graduate. A smack upside the head set him off, and in a split second, Jimmy had his attacker pinned onto the floor.

"Is it the scars? Hmm? Is that why you FUCK WITH ME every single day? Hm? Maybe... Maybe you're just curious as to how I got them? What are you, seventeen?"

"Yeah. Man, come on, pleas-"

"DON'T BEG TO ME! Now, you should be more mature. You should learn that, sometimes, people can't help what happens to them. Chaos is everywhere." He looked up at the clock, and it was still ten minutes before the time the teacher normally got in.

"Man, what the hell-" His white face had turned almost as white as a sheet by now.

"DON'T TALK! One slip the hand and I could crush your trachea, and laugh the whole time as you choked to death. Chaos, it rules the universe. I was just working on an equation, to show how this is true. Physics even accounts for it.

"You see, my father... He drank a lot. He beat me a lot. He was a monster, a _fiend_, and there was this one night... Worst night of my life, where he goes off _crazier _than usual. Starts calling mommy a cheater. Accuses her of sleeping around, with people from his factory. People she'd never heard of.

"He lost his _fucking mind_, man. Next second, mommy's got the kitchen knife, ready to fight for her life. He doesn't like that. Not. At. All. He breaks her wrist, and turns the knife on her, _laughing _while he does it. Stabs her in the heart, so many times.

"I lost count. He turns to me with the knife, sees me there, in horror, _why so serious? _Comes at me, sticks the blade in my mouth, _why so serious_? _Let's put a smile on that face_. _And_..."

"JIMMY?!" The teacher had just walked in the door, his disapproving shout causing Jimmy to back away from his classmate. The teacher picked up the phone, dialing the main office extension with his thick fingers. "Yeah. Barton, surprisingly... Let him off with a warning? Okay... Everyone, in your seats."

Hours later, the day was over and Jimmy was walking home, wearing the jacket he had hidden safely on school grounds, its pockets filled with knives. Normally, it was just for self defense, as he would have to walk through various back alleys in order to get to his foster home. He stopped in one alleyway when he heard footsteps behind him.

"Hey, boy." By the voice he could tell it was a black man. "Don't turn around and drop your pants."

Jimmy couldn't help but laugh and turn around, and when the man saw his scars, he backed up. "So, you think I'm just going to let you rape me in the ass, is it? What, can't get laid, not even by your hos? I'd guess so, not with the way you probably treat them. They'd rather suffer broken bones than your bone inside them."

"Who the fuck you think you are, boy? I'm bigger than you."

"More gravitational pull, that's all." He looked around. They were at least fifteen feet apart and the alleyway was devoid of any obstacles. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a switch blade. "Were I you, I'd be running as fast as I could."

The man simply let out a dry laugh before becoming serious again. "Boy, I ain't scared of you, and I done told you to drop 'em, which you ain't done yet."

"And I'm not going to." His head was bent forward, his long hair falling over his face, which had an ever present smile. He suddenly began to laugh loudly as the man took slow steps toward him. After a few seconds, they were only two feet apart, and the strange man was about to make a move when Jimmy moved quickly and had him pinned against the brick wall, a knife at his throat.

He quickly dug it through the flesh, slashed it across and jumped out of the way of the stream of blood quick enough so that he didn't get anything on him. He looked at the knife in his hand, thankful that he was wearing gloves, puckered his lips slightly, and placed it in the man's back pocket.

He had always made sure to handle his knives with gloves on, so he was confident that he would be safe. He laughed at the last twitch of the man's body and skipped the way down the remainder of the alley, stopping at the end to continue his walk home.

"Jim. School called." His foster mother stopped him in the entrance to their apartment. When it came to personality, she was nothing like his real mother, though she looked a lot like her. She was cold, heartless, and always had a different man visit every weekend.

She always assumed that Jimmy was unintelligent and that he actually didn't know for what reason these men were visiting. But he did know.

"Yeah, and?"

"You had an outburst in class?"

"Yeah, and?"

"They let you off with a warning."

"_Yeah, and_?"

"Nothing, I just don't want to hear it's happened again. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"Go get mommy a drink."

"You're not my 'mommy', as you put it. She's dead." He could tell he'd stricken a bad chord with her, because she moved her eyebrows a little more than usual, forming an almost angry expression. Only, a split second after, she'd relaxed.

"I'll show you mommy." Her hands began tracing the bottom rim of the spaghetti strap top she was wearing, which hardly descended past her belly button. Jimmy watched nervously as her fingers lifted it up and she made all of the movements to begin removing the top.

"You're drunk. I'm going to my room."

"And I'll be there." He shied his eyes away from her bare breasts and moved toward his room, lamenting that there was no lock on it. She always did this, almost everyday when he came home. He was tired of being raped, but there was nothing he could do, though he could overpower her. But she was a woman.

She looked like his mom. It would be too painful to hurt or kill her, no matter how much of a horrible person she was.

He just had to endure it. Who knows how many venereal diseases she'd passed on to him. She never bought any condoms, and when he did, she wouldn't let him put them on. And she'd always make him finish inside of her.

Why?

Did she want to be pregnant, by a fourteen year old?

His life was hell, he just wanted out of this place. The Gotham Foster Child Agency had ignored most of his requests because his foster mother had paid people to say that Jimmy was lying to the Agency whenever he tried to report the things his foster mother had done.

She'd even paid off detectives and cops, sealing the deal and letting her keep Jimmy no matter what he said. As he sat on his bed, he began thinking of the dead body he'd left in the alley. That was his first time killing anyone, but he felt nothing about it.

No remorse, no pain. He just thought it was all part of the universe's chaotic nature.

Why should he regret? Who knows what that man would have done to him?

He was startled when the door opened and in walked the entirely nude figure of Michelle, the fiend that was no better than his father, in his eyes. He admired her physical appearance but he knew what lay beneath the tan skin, dark brown hair, D cup breasts, and perfect athletic body.

A monster, disfigured and grotesque. A succubus, preying on anything with specifically male body parts, its true intents masked in an array of emotions and distorted logic. Normally, Jimmy would admire such chaos.

Normally, but not as she crawled onto his bed and began unzipping his pants. He'd grown used to it and admittedly enjoyed it during the act, but felt nothing but hatred for the woman afterward.

Hours later, he was on the bed, with the vile woman sleeping nude on his chest. He had to move. He had to do something.

But he'd tried to escape once before and had been beaten bad. But he was so much stronger, he didn't need to let her overpower him like that. As he felt her breasts move as she drew breath, an anger and resolution welled up inside him, forcing him to leap out from under her and grab one of his knives.

Instantly, she shot up, though her night vision wasn't yet developed as Jimmy's had been from laying awake in the dark for hours. He flipped the light switch on, if only to be fair.

He laughed at the thought. Fair. In a world of chaos, fair is a myth.

"Jimmy? Babe, come back to bed. You know what happens when you don't."

"No, I don't think I will."

"Get over here, you little shit. What's that knife for? New game? You're into sadism?"

He licked his lips and looked the room over. He could have her pinned to the bed in a matter of two seconds, so he made his move.

While he was over top of her, she giggled. "This is exciting. Ooh, is it a rape fantasy?"

"THIS ISN'T A GAME."

She froze.

"I'm leaving. You're going to let me go. If you don't, I'm going to kill you, you nasty cunt."

"Honey?"

"I'M NOT YOUR SEX TOY. I AM A FOURTEEN YEAR OLD CHILD, WITH THE MIND OF A MIDDLE AGED GENIUS. I don't need to be in this SHIT HOLE."

"Why?"

"Because everyday, you rape me, everyday, you abuse me. You allow me no freedom, you smother me. You try to be a mother, but you don't even care for me. You fuck me, and then you think that's all I want for the rest of the night, so you try to force me to sleep. Ever think I might want to eat? LISTEN TO ME!

"You're supposed to be a MOTHER, I'm supposed to be your SON! You treat me like a BOYFRIEND! It doesn't work that way."

"You're not going anywhere. I mate for life. You little retarded shithead." She grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulled his face closer and forcefully kissed him. He jerked himself away and had his knife on her neck.

"I COULD KILL YOU RIGHT NOW. Don't FUCK WITH ME. One nick of that artery and you bleed out."

"Try it. Fucker!" He growled and dug the knife into the artery, just as he'd said he would. Again, he avoided getting any blood on himself and placed the knife carefully so that it looked like she'd done it herself.

But then he thought of something. He thought this was funny. He went into the bathroom she had used and found a lot of makeup. He began with black around his eyes, and was satisfied with the look there. And then, white on his face, but something was still lacking.

Then he figured it out, red on the contours of his scars. The look satisfied him, and when he walked back into his room, he saw something white on his dresser, from which he was planning to get items to take with him.

Picking it up, he noticed it was a Joker card from a playing card deck. He laughed when he remembered that he would often try to toss it on top of the dresser from his bed, but it always missed. It must have made it last time. Carefully, he placed the card beside of Michelle's body, turned off the lights, and began walking toward the door to the apartment.


End file.
